Elvenandom
by Archet
Summary: A bunch of psycho elves show up in a box. On my front door. Great. Part of the Plush Toy Collaboration
1. Chapter 1

**Elvenandom**

**By Archet**

* * *

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything Tolkien, or any other references I have made in here. The Plush Toy Collaboration idea was originally by Crackinandproudofit and Duilin. The title of this story is dubbed off Tolkien's work Roverandom.  
**

**I would like to say thank you to Crackinandproudofit for betaing this, and for inspiring me to actually write.**

Chapter 1:

Archet sat at her desk, slumped over a pile of English homework and a tattered library copy of _The Outsiders. _Even at the best of times, she couldn't concentrate on her work, but today seemed to be worse than usual. And scribbling pictures of Balrogs in the margin of her paper wasn't really helping.

It was a freezing Thursday night, akin to every other evening in January. The ground outside was covered in a couple centimetres of snow, and tiny flakes swirled in lazy circles down into the dusk. The sky glowed pale with the last light of day. It was overall rather gloomy outside, despite the wan sunset.

Huffing, Archet kicked her socked foot against the leg of her desk in frustration. It hurt. But with the mild distraction of her throbbing toe, she briefly forgot how much she hated homework, and so was yet again able to concentrate. She bent back over her work, only to resume doodling Balrogs and mountains and ships after a good minute or so.

This sort of scenario had been continuing for the last hour, to little avail.

She was never going to get her homework done.

Meanwhile, in decent places where Tolkien maniacs didn't reside, a rather large package had just arrived at the post office. A heavy cardboard box, unadorned except for an address, free (as far as the postmaster could tell), had "just appeared, like magic" in the back. According to Leavitt.

Leavitt wasn't exactly the reliable type.

The postmaster sighed audibly, glancing at the tattered label tacked to the top of the box. Leavitt peered over his shoulder. The young man was in his early twenties and had only worked at the station for a few days. Every single package or customer that arrived seemed to delight him, and he was always grinning, always joking with customers, and drinking coffee by the gallon.

The postmaster had hated him instantly. Of course, Leavitt didn't care.

Well, he probably didn't even notice.

"Can I deliver it?" he asked, eyes shining, "I swear it came out of _nowhere_. I need to know where it goes".

"Yeah, yeah," said the postmaster flatly. "Just be back within the hour. No lollygagging. No stopping. Get back quick."

"I promise." Leavitt attempted to pick up the box and carry it out the back. After a couple of miserable attempts and pitiful looks toward his boss (who ignored him), he ended up dragging it outside and hauling it into the backseat of the mail-truck.

The box shook ever-so-slightly.

A good twenty minutes later, he pulled up in front of an average-looking house. Note that 'average-looking' does not mean a kindergarten drawing of a square, two windows and a door. It's more along the lines of 'looked like every other house in a several kilometre radius'. That's suburbs for you. The lights were on in the front room, and a car was in the driveway.

As Leavitt got out of the truck to deliver the package, Archet was already hurrying down the stairs to open the door. She had seen the vehicle pull up and was desperate for any excuse to avoid her dreaded homework.

"Mom, there's a mail truck outside," she called loudly as she skidded down the last few steps. "Have you ordered anything?"

A faint call of "Pardon?" was heard from somewhere in the house. Archet smiled to herself, not bothering to repeat the question. It would only result in more confusion.

She rounded the corner just as Leavitt rang the doorbell, taking a quick moment to peep through the window before opening the door.

A fairly tall guy stood on the porch, straining to hold up a large cardboard box. His hair was sticking out in a hundred random directions, and he looked like he hadn't slept in a week. Nonetheless he looked rather happy. And insane.

Archet stared at him. She stared at the box.

Leavitt considered staring himself, then decided it was rather rude. Instead, he started to put the package down and pulled a clipboard out of his bag.

"You live here, right?" he inquired, handing her the clipboard. "I need you to sign if you're going to take this inside".

Archet shifted her gaze from the box back to the man's face. "I- yeah," she said, "erm, I didn't know you were allowed to ship live animals".

"Animals?" Leavitt looked confused. "No, no, of course not. Why do you ask?"

"That box just moved."

Leavitt instinctively took a step backwards. "I, well, that's strange," he said, shuddering. "Well, I'll leave you to it then. If you have any questions or...complaints or anything, feel free to call." He hurried back to the truck, feeling like an idiot and wishing he had brought a jacket.

Only on the way back did he realize he had forgotten to tell the girl that her package had seemingly come out of nowhere.

Meanwhile, Archet hauled the box into the front foyer of her house. The snow had made little damp splotches in the cardboard. Archet stared at them, unsure whether to open the huge package or to wait for her parents. The box shook slightly. Archet swallowed as her decision blossomed in her mind. She scampered to the kitchen, returning with a pair of scissors.

Slowly, the girl cut the tape down the side of the box and opened the flaps. With a scream, she jumped back in horror, dropping the scissors. Packing peanuts flew around the room.

There was a body in the box.

Four, actually. Four bodies.

And one was trying to get out.

Archet's mom, upon hearing a scream, pounded up the staircase from the basement to see her daughter staring shell-shocked at the disaster in her living room.

Being a mother, the first thing she noticed were the peanuts. The strange man came a few seconds after.

"Who're you?!" she shrieked, pointing an accusatory finger at the being. "What have you done to my daughter?"

The man (Well, actually, he was an elf, but Archet's mom didn't know that yet) looked at her, confused. He then noticed Archet, and nodded.

"Ah, I see," he said. "This is your daughter? Hello, Archet. I am Maedhros."

Archet unfroze to look up at the man frowning down at her. She opened her mouth, and then, finding no words to say, closed it again. A sort of amazement came into her eyes.

Archet's mother, however, was not impressed.

"I will call the police right now if you do not tell me this instant what you are doing on my property. In fact- I will probably call them anyways, but that's beside the point, because you should be long gone by the time I-"

"Mom?" Archet interrupted, "He's a friend, I think. Give him a chance to talk. He was mailed here."

"_Mailed here_? Archet, what kind of nonsense are you-"

"Yes we were," said Maedhros. "Here." He took a large sheaf of papers out from inside the box and handed it to Archet. "I believe the bulk of it is in these files, but you did apply for the PTC program, no?"

"I don't believe so," Archet flipped through the papers. Her mom went off to make herself a cup of hot tea. Stress was not good for her.

"Well, then, someone must have applied you. Basically, what happens when you are chosen to participate is that you are mailed...some elves-" Maedhros glanced behind him at the cardboard box and folded his hands over his chest. "-who reside with you for a certain period of time. Six weeks, I think."

"But they're _dead_," said Archet, imagining all the horrible ways the elves might have died. "Except you of course. Why are they dead?"

"I was coming to that." Maedhros brushed a hand through his reddish hair, which had been cut short. He looked rather uncomfortable. "PTC stands for the Plush Toy Collaboration. They- and I- are plushies."

He began to fidget with something in his jacket pocket. In the kitchen they heard the kettle start to loudly whistle. It was rather annoying.

Archet paced the room slowly, and then went to look at the box. She lifted a limp arm out of it and gave a quick squeeze. It was fabric. What the heck.

"So, you're not real?" she asked Maedhros quizzically. He glared at her, and she shrunk back.

"Of course I am real," he said. "Do I not look real? Am I not talking to you?" He grabbed the scissors off the floor where Archet had dropped them, and pressed the sharp part to his arm with his left hand. Archet noticed for the first time that his right was missing.

"See? I bleed. That makes me real."

The young author sighed, utterly confused, but not the least dismayed to have elves living in her house. She glanced back into the cardboard box.

"Who are the others?" she asked.

Maedhros looked thoughtful. "My brother Tyelko, and Finrod Felagund. The other is Dior Eluchíl."

"I have to have Celegorm and Dior living in my house at the _same time_?."

"Well, yes." Maedhros tried to give the girl a consoling smile, failing miserably. "It's not forever, though."

"When will they wake up?" Archet resumed pacing the carpet anxiously. She could no longer meet the elf's eyes.

"Soon, I believe. I assume it's up to you to figure out when and how they-I mean _we_, wake up."

"Ah." Archet patted the pile of papers she had rested on the coffee table, "Well, in the meantime I think I have some reading to do."


	2. Chapter 2

**Right. Thank you for being patient. I have not given up! **

**Thanks once again the the amazing Crackers for reading this over and...fixing it and all that :)**

* * *

Chapter 2:

Archet bounded up the staircase, feeling both nervous giddy at the same time, if that was even possible. Maedhros trailed behind her, carrying the cardboard box full of his currently-made-of-plush kin. She led him into her brother's room, sat down on the bed clenching the stack of the paper from the box, knees to her chest, and stared at the elf as he carefully placed his cargo down on the carpeted floor. The box did not move, which was honestly rather to be expected.

"Um," said Archet quietly (yes, you would've thought that an author had a better vocabulary than that.) "Um, what do we do now?"

Maedhros didn't answer, seemingly preoccupied with studying the features of the room. It was nothing special. A bed, desk, large chair, chest of drawers. The floor was that greyish carpet colour which Archet so despised. A closet door was situated in the corner. Pale blue walls reflected the dying light that filtered in through the window. A couple of photographs were pinned to a corkboard hanging on the wall. Nothing special, really.

"Are we to live here?" asked the elf.

"I dunno", mumbled Archet, suddenly feeling rather awkward. "I guess so."

"This is your brother's room, I take it?"

"He's at college. It's a guestroom now. Anyways, I think I'm going to get ready to sleep. I still have some English homework left to finish for tomorrow".

Maedhros watched the girl gracelessly trip off the bed and exit through the door, closing it behind her. He listened for the familiar click of a lock. None appeared.

* * *

"Oh, good. You're all up. I was worried."

Finrod opened his eyes blearily and instantly shut them again, "Please turn off the Sun. I cannot see with it glaring in my eyes."

Archet guiltily turned off her flashlight, turning on the overhead light instead. The elves, half awake, cowered before the brightness. Dior tried to cram himself under the low-lying bed. It was a rather funny sight.

The girl stared at all the elves, taking in their appearances. Finrod and Celegorm both had blond hair, which she made note of immediately. Dior's hair was pitch-black, while Maedhros's was, of course, very red. They looked more or less exactly as she had imagined them, except taller.

"Good morning," Archet said a little louder. "I need you guys to listen to me for a second. I need to leave for school".

"What?" mumbled Finrod.

"School?" Maedhros said.

"The sun has barely risen," muttered Dior.

Celegorm smirked. "Thank you for the obvious." He aimed a pillow at the not-exactly-a-real-elf's head.

Which begged the question of why exactly he was there in the first place?

Unfortunately, Archet had not yet realized that one of her elves wasn't even really an elf, being rather preoccupied with the fact that none of them were even _real_ in the first place.

"Right. I'm leaving for school. Stay. In. Here. I'll be back by lunchtime."

"What about food?" asked Finrod, who had sat up to squint at the girl.

"We'll be fine," said Maedhros quickly, with a death glare towards his younger cousin (not that age mattered that much to these guys).

"No, we won't," muttered Finrod, lying back down on the comforter he had pulled off the bed, "But we will comply."

Archet shut the door on the four elves and guiltily got ready for school. She felt kind of bad about treating the four more-or-less-elven-princes like pets, but she was rather overwhelmed by the whole stupid thing anyways.

She instead filled her mind with the depressing fact that band rehearsal had unfortunately been scheduled for Friday morning. (Because teachers think we all love to get up early.)

As the sun came up around 7:30, Archet quietly pulled on her boots and coat, then slipped out the door. Feeling the freezing wind on her cheeks, she had a moment's sympathy for her parents, who had to leave even before this time. Then she remembered her parents had cars and didn't feel quite so bad.

* * *

_Twenty minutes later..._

Archet slumped dejectedly into her plastic chair as people started trickling into the music room, most of them carrying assorted black cases. Archet herself played violin, mainly because she had thought back in fourth grade that it sounded pretty. It likely hadn'that been worth all the trouble, though.

"Hey!" exclaimed a stubborn male voice, as a smaller girl dodged out of the way of a chair. "Sorry," she said cheerfully, noticing Archet looking over and flashing a grin. Our Favourite Tolkien Hero attempted to smile back, as the girl pulled a chair over.

"Mrs Karr is here," she announced, then noticed Archet's rather unhappy expression, "Hey, what's wrong?"

"Nothing," Archet said quickly. "I mean, something. A big something. But I don't know-"

"Is it a gu-"

"NO!" Archet exclaimed before the girl could even finish the sentence. A few people looked over, but most were busy chatting with their own friends before the teacher came in and made them shut up.

"Pity," sniggered the girl, "I thought you were finally growing up."

"Whatever, Tijana."

"Don't you 'whatever' me, young lady. It's my business to know-" Tijana abruptly shut up as Mrs Karr entered the room, precisely on time (as usual), and with a scowl on her face (as usual).

"Great," muttered Archet. "Just great."

* * *

"What is _that_?" whispered a voice.

"That," Finrod Felagund, Elf Supreme, sniffed the 'that'. "That is a, um..."

"Yes?" said Dior.

"I have no idea!" Finrod cried.

"Be quiet. You're going to wake the others."

"So? There's no blasted food in this house anyways. They deserve to be woken up."

"I'm pretty sure that's an apple," said Dior, pointing at an apple, "but it's oddly shiny."

"It'll do," declared Finrod and bravely took a bite of the shiny apple. "It's an apple."

Alright, so perhaps Maedhros and Celegorm could go 18+ hours without food, but honestly, it's a Fëanorian thing only. Eventually the other two elves had cracked. So they had decided to raid the kitchen (not after Dior had discovered permanent markers and drew all over Celegorm's sleeping face). And it hadn't been until at least half-hour after they started exploring the room to get out that Dior had realized they weren't actually locked in. It was a very cranky pair of elves who had climbed down the stairs to be met with the prospect of so-called 'organic apples'.

"It's 10:00," warned Finrod some time after they had figured out how to turn on the TV and watch National Geographic, lounging in the spotless living room.

The Elf turned around to stare at Dior, who was sitting dignified-like on the sofa, all upright and proper. Embarrassed, Finrod realized he had somehow gotten into a slumped position on the shaggy white carpet. He nervously sat up straighter, not wanting to risk any sort of how-to-behave lecture, much less from someone to whom he was considerably superior (in his own eyes, at least).

"What time did Archet say she'd be home?"

"Noon. Well, lunch. Which is likely noon."

"Let us go, then." Dior said.

The two had started to quietly head towards the back door when the doorbell rang ominously. Dior literally jumped a foot in the air out of surprise.

"Should we answer it?" he hissed.

"I don't see why not."

"Right. Come, Finrod; let us answer the door."

And so the two elves made the rash (and mildly stupid) decision to open the door to a stranger...


End file.
